So This Is Love
by onceinabluemoon0013
Summary: Cinderella AU. Orphaned at a young age, Molly Hooper now works as a maid under the strict supervision of the palace's head of staff. Her love for science is rivalled only by that of his royal highness, Prince Sherlock. When the queen declares that Sherlock must find himself a wife, Sherlock decides that no one would make a better fake fiancée than his best friend, Molly Hooper.
1. Prologue

**This is my entry for the Sherlolly Big Bang Challenge (on AO3). It has 8 parts, and is completely done. If you'd like to read the entire story now, you can find it on AO3. My username is onceinabluemoon0013 over there.**

 **As for FF, I am going to spread out posting the chapters a little bit (probably every other day or so), so I don't blow up your inboxes!**

 **The wonderful Ouishie created a wonderful artwork for this story, which you can find on AO3, or you can message me for the link.**

 **I really hope you like it!**

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There once lived a girl named Molly Hooper.

It was said (by those shadowy someones who seem to always say such things) that nature celebrated her birth with splendor, welcoming the bright-eyed baby into the world with open arms.

The sun smiled down on the kingdom of Baker from an incandescent blue sky, while a gentle breeze drifted indoors through an open window, delicately brushing her mother's flushed cheeks. The babe's first cries were masked as birds sang a joyful melody from their treetop havens in honor of the earth's latest inhabitant.

Margaret Hooper cried when she first gazed upon her beautiful daughter, a grin already proudly displayed on the child's round little face. Her husband, Captain Edward Hooper of the Royal Guard, simply stared in awe at the tiny human wrapped snugly in the bright green blanket Margaret had knitted in preparation for the baby's arrival.

The midwife gently dabbed the tired mother's forehead, as the proud couple fussed over the newest addition to their family.

"What should we name you?" Margaret crooned, her eyelids fluttering heavily as weariness caught up to her. Edward gently removed the child from her grasp, placing a gentle kiss on her temple.

"I believe you look like a Molly," he uttered quietly, gazing adoringly at the tiny infant. "Molly Hooper. What do you think, love?" he asked his wife.

"That sounds perfect." She offered Edward a small smile. "Welcome home, Molly," she whispered, before sleep finally overcame her.

XXXXX

Living on a modest estate a mere half-hour journey from the palace on horse, Molly's childhood was a sublimely happy one, filled with the kind of love and joy that many people seek, but few are ever lucky enough to find.

As a captain of the Royal Guard, Edward spent the majority of his time away from home; thus, most of Molly's days were spent with her kind and caring mother.

Molly quickly displayed an aptitude for science, rare in someone so young, and Margaret Hooper happily nourished her daughter's thirst for knowledge. The library in their home was filled to the brim with tomes explaining any manner of topics in great detail, from medicinal uses for naturally-growing plants to anatomical drawings of various animal species.

Molly consumed this information with wild abandon, spending hours outside memorizing the names of the various herbs and flowers. The woodland creatures which lived in the surrounding woods were her playmates, keeping her company when her mother could not.

Although her father was away more often than not, when he _was_ home, Molly would beg him to tell her stories, and the two would curl up together on her bed. Her favorites always involved brave warriors battling fearsome monsters to save the damsel in distress.

" _Why doesn't the princess save herself, daddy?"_

" _I'm not sure, pumpkin."_

" _Well, I think she should. It makes no sense to be waiting around for the knight to save the day."_

" _Whatever you say, pumpkin."_

They would sit like that for hours, Edward weaving increasingly more fantastic tales as the night wore on. Afterwards, Margaret would walk in to bid her daughter goodnight, finding Molly fast asleep nestled into her father's side, a wide, goofy smile etched on her face even in slumber. Extracting himself from her tiny arms, Edward would grab Molly's green blanket (now fraying at the edges and patched several times) and drape it over his daughter. Entwining his fingers with Margaret's, they would both kiss her cheek and retire to their chambers.

Yes, Molly Hooper's childhood was, indeed, a happy one.

Until, it wasn't.

XXXXX

The signs were subtle at first.

Her mother tired more easily, unable to spend as much time roaming around outside, chasing after Molly.

A plump and kind-looking elderly man visited the manor frequently, although Margaret sent Molly out to play whenever he arrived. He always carried a large, black bag that rattled when he walked, but never failed to hand the young girl a candy as he took his leave with a sad smile.

When Molly awoke for the third day in a row to a loud coughing fit, she felt fear grip her five-year-old body. She rushed to her mother's side and continued to stroke her sweat-soaked hair until the outburst finally wound down.

Later that morning, Edward Hooper arrived at the estate, wheezing and out of breath, alerted to his wife's deteriorating condition by the housekeeper. Never having seen her father so distraught, dread sunk its claws even deeper into Molly's heart.

Two days later found Molly lounging in her father's lap outside her parents' bedroom as the old man with the bag once more examined Margaret Hooper. When he left the room this time, however, he shut the door quietly behind him, a grim expression upon his face. He looked at them and quickly walked over to where the two Hoopers were sitting together.

Always a bright child, Molly instantly knew that something was wrong. Instead of waiting around to listen to the man's prognosis, however, she hopped off of her father and hurried to her mother's side.

"Mummy?" she called hesitantly, slowing as she reached the large bed. She found her mother propped against the headboard, dark hair fanned out on a fluffy pillow.

"Hello, pumpkin," her mother answered feebly, attempting a smile for her daughter's sake, although the final result looked more like a grimace.

"What's going on, Mummy?" the frightened little girl asked. "And don't say nothing, because I can tell something's wrong."

Sighing, Margaret reached a hand out to her daughter, catching Molly's small fingers between her own. "Molly, my brave, sweet, girl," she began, choking a little on her words.

Molly crawled onto the bed beside her mother, hugging her as fiercely as she could. Young as she was, she understood that this moment was important, and that she needed to remember every second of it.

"My brave, brave girl," Margaret started again once Molly had settled next to her. "I love you so much. You know that, right?" Molly nodded, lower lip trembling as she fought back tears. Margaret swallowed thickly and continued, "Our time together is drawing to a close, and I need you to promise me something." She paused again, gathering her strength.

"One day, you will meet the most amazing person in the world and fall madly in love. Someone who makes your heart stop and your pulse flutter. You are the best, most unselfish person I know, Molly. So when you do meet this person, I want you to promise me that they will be worthy of your love. Don't give your heart to someone who isn't willing to give you theirs in return. Can you do that for me, pumpkin?"

"I… I promise, M-mummy."

The dam finally broke, and Molly began to sob into her mother's stomach. She stayed there, Margaret caressing her back, until Edward picked her up and put her to bed.

It was the last conversation she had with her mother.

Margaret Hooper died peacefully in her sleep later that night.

XXXXX

Haunted by memories of his wife, Edward Hooper moved Molly and himself to the palace permanently two weeks after Margaret's passing. The estate was left in the care of a middle-aged widow by the name of Martha Hudson, under the condition that it eventually be left to Molly.

Ever a resilient child, Molly quickly adapted to life in the castle. She learned when to sneak into the kitchen to bargain an extra roll away from the cook (after breakfast, when Mrs. Prince, the strict head of staff, was busy elsewhere), and where the best books were kept in the enormous library (bottom shelf, second row from the end). She quickly befriended a young servant, Sally Donovan, who was brave and witty and everything Molly wished she could be.

Less than a year after they moved to the palace, however, tragedy struck once more, blowing through Molly Hooper's life like a hurricane hell-bent on leaving as much destruction as possible.

She was playing in one of her favorite courtyards, a hidden treasure she had stumbled across accidentally, when Lieutenant Gregory Lestrade, one of her father's subordinates, found her.

Greg (as he insisted she call him) was still young, fresh out of training, but her father had told her that, one day, he was going to be one of the greatest soldiers in the king's entire army. Molly was quite impressed, to say the least. He had taken her under his wing, bringing her small tokens from his travels around the kingdom. Molly had never had a brother, but she imagined it felt something like this.

A man of only one and twenty, he looked much older today, with his head hanging sadly and dark circles under his brown eyes.

"Is Papa home, yet?" she asked him, already sensing that he did not bring good news.

"Molly…," he said regretfully. His reluctance to continue, however, told Molly all she needed to know, prompting her to burst into tears.

Captain Hooper and his men had been traveling through Lord Moriarty's lands when they were ambushed. Without Edward's sacrifice, many more men would have lost their lives.

Greg held her as she cried, his heart breaking for this young girl who had experienced far too much hardship for someone her age. He vowed then and there to always watch out for her, and to ensure that, whatever happened to her, she would get her happy ending.

Yet, little did either of them know, that Molly Hooper's destiny was currently spying on the pair of them from behind a rose bush.

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 **Reviewing is optional, but I love reading your thoughts, and it could convince me to update sooner!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Because I didn't feel right making you guys wait for the actual first chapter. From now on, I plan to post one chapter every other day.**

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Molly Hooper was down on her hands and knees, furiously scrubbing imaginary dirt trails off of the pristine marble floor. The eighteen-year-old hummed softly to herself as she worked, the sweet melody echoing throughout the castle's enormous entrance hall.

In exchange for her continued residence at the palace, Molly had agreed to help Mrs. Prince around the castle, even if that meant tolerating the austere older woman's often impossibly high standards of cleanliness.

Catching sight of her reflection in a solitary soap bubble, Molly sighed and fell back on her haunches, deciding she could spare one minute to rest. She wiped her brow with the dirty cloth she'd been using to polish the floor before realizing what she had done and dropping the rag in distaste. Trying to ease some of the tension caused by spending hours hunched over, Molly huffed out a breath and rolled her shoulders, scrutinizing her appearance closely. Stringy tendrils of brown hair had fallen out of her bun and smudges of ash littered her pallid cheeks.

Her sable eyes were bloodshot, evidence of the previous evening she'd spent examining scientific texts until the wee hours of the morning. Even her dress had seen better days, the blue frock littered with hastily-sewn-on patches. Likewise, no amount of cleaning could remove the multitude of stains and return her originally-white apron to its former glory.

Molly knew she was not ugly, by any definition of the word, but she definitely wasn't _pretty_ , especially compared to the sophisticated and graceful ladies of the court that she observed on a daily basis. Most days their eyes wandered past her grubby form, ignoring her like the invisible nobody she often believed herself to be.

She wasn't striking enough to compete with them, and she certainly wasn't gorgeous enough to deserve–

 _No!_

She stopped herself before she could drift even further down that river of misery and self-doubt.

It would not do to dwell on things that could never be. Sure, her life was nowhere close to the one she'd imagined as a child, still convinced her parents would live forever, but she was far from unhappy. She had Sally, who often scolded her when Molly fell into one of her bouts of insecurity.

The pair had become so close, in fact, that they shared a small room in the servants' wing of the castle. Although their aspirations were vastly different (Sally dreamed of one day joining the Royal Guard, unlikely as that was for a lowly servant), they still supported and reassured one another whenever their lives became too difficult to navigate alone.

Greg Lestrade was also a huge comfort to Molly.

Although he was busy nowadays as the leader of the Guard (just like her father had predicted), he still made every effort to see Molly whenever possible. It was the soldier, in fact, who had fought for her and convinced Mrs. Prince to let her remain in the palace. He continued to bring the young woman gifts from his travels, including a lovely orange kitten as a present on her sixteenth birthday.

The feline in question (who she had affectionately named Toby) was currently butting his head tenderly against her thigh, offering his mistress comfort in the only way he knew how.

Realizing that she had been musing for much too long, Molly spared a moment to brush a hand along Toby's back and hurriedly pushed herself back onto her knees. She picked up the dirty rag from where it had landed nearby.

As she began furiously cleaning once more, however, she reflected the only other person with any real significance in her life; the man who could make her smile more than anyone else (when he wasn't inadvertently insulting her and driving her insane).

She had met him a mere week after her father's passing.

XXXXX

 _Molly's feet dangled off the edge of a stone bench in her favorite courtyard. She had managed to slip away from the well-meaning adults, none of whom had wanted to leave the six-year-old by herself after the news of Captain Hooper's death broke._

 _This was the same spot she had been sitting when Greg had delivered the news that broke her heart; the last moment before she realized her father was never returning home to her. The words in her anatomy book blurred together as moisture clouded her vision._

 _Finally alone, she closed the book with a thud, giving up on trying to distract herself with reading._

 _Grief departed her tiny body in gut-wrenching sobs. She balled her hands into fists and struck out at the nearest hard surface._

 _Unfortunately, the nearest hard surface just happened to be the bench on which she was resting._

 _Her cries increased in volume as physical pain combined with emotional, turning her into a blubbering mess. She didn't know what she was going to do without her mummy and daddy. They were her best friends as well as her protectors, and now they were gone forever._

 _She heard footsteps approaching from somewhere to her left, and tried to stem the flow of tears before they stumbled upon her. Wiping her hot cheeks with her hands, she gulped and looked up as someone entered the yard._

 _She was surprised to see a young boy, perhaps a couple of years older than her._

 _He was lanky, with dark, curly hair and the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd seen him in her current condition. She had probably noticed him around the palace somewhere._

 _He stopped when he realized she was sitting there, his blue-green eyes rapidly taking everything in, from her tear-stained cheeks to her bloody knuckles. When his eyes met hers, he hesitantly shuffled closer, holding a hand out in front of him to assure her he meant no harm._

 _If she had been in a more sound state of mind, she would have been offended that he apparently saw the need to treat her like some wild animal._

" _Hello," he began, taking another tentative step towards her._

 _Molly tried to offer him a small smile in greeting but failed completely. She waved a hand half-heartedly instead._

" _You are Molly, right? Captain Hooper's daughter?" He spoke quietly, so as not to frighten her, but his words came out more statement than question, leaving little room to disagree. Whoever this boy was, he was very confident and sure of himself. She nodded her head shyly, still sniffling every so often._

" _He was a very brave man. Dad says he saved a lot of lives, and that he will be remembered as a hero."_

" _I know," Molly replied._

" _B-but I just w-want my d-dad back." She could feel her tears returning and shut her eyes tightly in an attempt stop them._

 _The boy sat down beside her and raised his arm, patting her awkwardly on the back._

" _There, there," he uttered helplessly, clearly out of his depth with the crying girl beside him._

 _She felt something soft against her hands and looked down to find him delicately patting her broken skin with a handkerchief. She yelped when he touched a particularly tender spot, and he dropped the fabric in surprise, returning his hand to his lap._

" _S-sorry," Molly managed to articulate, her face flushing in embarrassment. Trust her to make a fool of herself in front of a stranger._

 _The boy, however, shook his head, waving off her apology._

" _I know if I was in your situation, I would be a mess, too." He must have noticed her hurt, because he quickly backpedaled. "N-not that you are a mess, of course. Just... sad," he finished lamely._

 _Molly stared up at him through her lashes, noticing that his cheeks were now tinted a rosy pink._

 _The boy twisted his face away from her, focusing instead on a dead worm lying below them in the dirt._

"Lumbricus terrestris _," Molly mumbled to herself, the familiar Latin phrase rolling off of her tongue with ease. The boy's head shot up, his attention now solely on her._

" _You understand the binomial nomenclature method of classifying biological organisms?" he asked, wonder in his voice._

 _A smile threatened to break through for the first time in days. Instead of answering verbally, she picked up the book she had been trying to concentrate on before her breakdown and handed it to him. His fingers ran over the cover lovingly, and Molly began to think she had found herself a kindred spirit in this mysterious boy._

 _Excitedly, he shot up from his position on the bench and grabbed her hand. She winced at the contact, but didn't say anything._

" _I just had the most brilliant idea! Mum just bought me a new anatomy set. Do you want to help me autopsy our little friend here, Molly?"_

 _He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation, and she found his enthusiasm infectious._

 _Her smile widened before she responded, "Okay." He pulled her to her feet, and she brushed the dirt off the back of her dress before she realized something._

" _Um, can you tell me your name? You know mine, but I don't know yours." She swept her left foot on the ground timidly, playing with the hem of her skirt._

" _Sherlock," he stated, as though it was obvious._

 _Her eyes widened. "Sh-sherlock? As in_ Prince _Sherlock?!"_

" _Of course, how many other Sherlocks do you know?" He chuckled until he saw her expression._

" _Oh." He was quiet for a moment. "You really did not know, did you?"_

 _She shook her head in amazement. Her father had told her stories of the youngest prince and their common interest in all things science, but she still had not imagined that she would accidentally bump into him, and especially not when she was in such a state. The palace was enormous, after all!_

 _She felt his fingers tighten around hers, and she looked up at him again._

" _Do you still want to see my anatomy set?" Molly was stunned to detect a hint of uncertainty in his voice._

 _Molly didn't even have to think about it. "Let's go."_

XXXXX

Molly grinned as she recalled her first meeting with the oddly endearing young man. Since that day, there had been many experiments and adventures to be had between the two, often the result of Sherlock's unappeasable curiosity. Molly had no limit to her own inquisitiveness, and she was always more than happy to join him in his endeavors.

Over the years, their friendship had only grown stronger, even if most occupants of the palace found it mindboggling; the prince and the servant girl.

Sometimes Molly herself found it hard to believe.

Sherlock was one of the best things to come out of her continued inhabitance of the palace. He was her best friend; the only person who completely understood her.

She was also hopelessly, unrequitedly in love with him.

XXXXX

On the other side of the castle, Sherlock, second son of the House of Holmes, was lounging in his mother's sitting room. He had always liked the room, a cozy space decorated in hues of emerald and scarlet.

Right now, however, he was far too guarded to enjoy himself.

When the queen's squirrely assistant, Anderson, had summoned him for a meeting with his brother and mother, Sherlock's suspicions had been raised immediately, especially when he learned the meeting would occur in his favorite room of the palace.

The pair were currently sitting opposite him, although their countenances could not be any more different.

Mummy was reclining comfortably with one leg crossed over the other, a calculating gleam visible in her eyes. Mycroft, on the other hand, sat completely rigid, posture immaculate as always. (Sherlock doubted his brother had ever relaxed in his entire life.)

Both appeared ready for battle.

Whatever they had to tell him could not be anything good.

"Sherlock," Violet began, gazing intently at her youngest son.

"Yes, Mummy?" Sherlock bit out, infusing his tone with some of the bitterness he was currently feeling.

"Do not be rude, Sherlock!" Mycroft scolded. When it became clear Sherlock would not reply, he continued. "You turned twenty-one this year…."

"Why, thank you, Mycroft! I had absolutely no idea!" he interrupted, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Mycroft drew his eyebrows together in irritation, but he evidently decided to ignore his brother's attempts to needle him, as his next words were, "We all know what this is about, Sherlock. Although I am the Crown Prince, I am unable to produce an heir to the throne. You are of age now, and, as such, you have certain responsibilities as a member of this family that must be adhered to."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but did not refute Mycroft's assertions that he understood why they had called him. Indeed, he had been expecting a meeting such as this one for the past month since his birthday.

"Who is the lucky woman, then? Or do I have a say in the person I shall be shackled to for the rest of my life?" He steepled his fingers together and raised his eyebrows, inviting either of the pair to respond.

"Obviously, Sherlock, dear," his mother began, "we do not want to force you to marry someone you detest. King Peter of Belgravia, however, has mentioned a possible alliance between our two kingdoms. His daughter, Irene, is only a year younger than you, and I have heard she is absolutely lovely! Very clever, too." Violet smiled knowingly at her youngest son.

She understood both of her sons extremely well, and she recognized that a woman's intelligence would always matter more to Sherlock than her physical attributes.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes at his mother's attempt at persuasion, however. She may have won the heart of a king, but subtle she most certainly was not.

"And if I wish to marry for love?"

Mycroft actually had the gall to laugh at that, throwing his head back with an ungentlemanly guffaw. Sherlock wasn't even able to enjoy his brother's loss of propriety, as he was too offended by Mycroft's reaction. After his chortles had died down, he sat up and met Sherlock's narrowed gaze.

"Love? You? The man who, just last week, was overheard criticizing Lord Watson on selecting his bride based on sentiment rather than practicality?"

The younger man pointedly studied his nails instead of looking at his brother's mocking expression. The crown prince was right, of course, but Sherlock refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

Instead of ridiculing her son, Violet tilted to head to one side, observing Sherlock thoughtfully. "Is there someone you love, Sherlock?"

She waved off Mycroft's proclamation of "Don't be ridiculous, Mummy!" instead keeping her attention solely on her youngest child.

Sherlock fidgeted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

"There could be," he mumbled, voice so low that the other two occupants of the room had to lean forward to hear him.

Violet sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Very well," she conceded.

"King Peter and his daughter will be visiting Baker in two weeks' time. Your father and I have decided to host a ball in honor of their arrival. As I am sure you are aware, the popularity of the royal family has dropped quite drastically in recent years, even more so since Lord Moriarty's betrayal and subsequent execution. Thus, we plan to invite all the people of Baker as a gesture of good will to our citizens. Introduce us to your intended at the ball, or we will announce your betrothal to Princess Irene. Agreed?"

Sherlock nodded his head in agreement, albeit reluctantly.

He had been hoping for longer to come up with a way out of his predicament, but a fortnight was better than nothing. He possessed one of the most magnificent minds in the country. Sherlock was confident that he would be able to solve this prior to the ball.

Sensing that the conversation was over, Sherlock stood up, glaring at his brother as he did so.

The bastard just grinned smugly in reply. Another thought struck him just as he reached the door, however, and he pivoted abruptly. "Do I need to select someone of noble birth?"

His mother considered his question for a moment.

"I do not see why that should be necessary. If you truly love the woman and wish to marry her, we will support your union, whoever she may be."

"Thank you, Mummy," he answered graciously with a dip of his head in her direction. He quickly pulled open the door and strode out, thoughts swirling through his mind a mile a minute. He had quite a bit about which to think, and he knew just the person who could help him with his dilemma.

XXXXX

Lord John Watson had known Prince Sherlock for over fifteen years. John's parents had been invited to the palace for a meeting with the king and queen, leaving their sons to entertain themselves. They had quickly bonded over a mutual love of archery and other dangerous pastimes. Nowadays, he was considered to be the prince's most trusted advisor.

In all that time, John had seen him in all manner of conditions: giggly and incoherent after imbibing too much wine at supper, mocking and derisive when confronted by extraordinary stupidity. In all that time, however, he had never seen his friend (and, yes, he would continue to use that label for their relationship, even if Sherlock himself would not) like this.

The prince paced from one end of his massive bedroom to the other, muttering unintelligibly to himself all the while. John had been watching him for at least half an hour, and he still had no idea what had Sherlock so agitated.

"Can you believe this, John?" Sherlock cried exasperatedly, running his long fingers through his dark curls.

John blinked at his friend for several moments before he realized the younger man was expecting some sort of reply. "Believe what?"

Sherlock glared at his friend before releasing a loud huff in frustration.

"My _wedding_ , John. Haven't you been paying attention?" John made to respond but Sherlock continued before he could utter a word. "Mummy and Mycroft have given me _two weeks_ to choose the woman with whom I will be chained, until death do us part!" He began mumbling again as his pacing increased.

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his friend's dramatics.

"Marriage, huh?" he simplified, fighting down the smile that threatened to bloom on his face. "What are you going to do?"

"I do not know, John! That is why I summoned you here! _Obviously_!" He let out a deep breath and plopped down on the edge of his four-poster, falling back with an ungraceful smack. "I just need more time." Sherlock sounded more defeated than John had ever heard, and it was this, more than anything else, that had John worried for his friend.

Clearly this was affecting the prince more than he had realized.

"You could always try to convince the queen that two weeks is not long enough to find a wife," he offered, but Sherlock's scoff revealed without a shadow of a doubt what he thought about that idea.

"Fine, then, what else is there? Are you going to ask some girl to pretend to be your fiancée?" John intended the last solution as a joke, but from the way Sherlock shot up on the bed, he was taking it more seriously than John had anticipated. Surely he wasn't honestly considering….

This was Sherlock. Of course he was.

"How are you even going to find a girl on such short notice? Someone who is willing to pretend to be engaged to a prince, with no hope of actually marrying said prince, and who is trustworthy enough that you know she will not reveal the truth of your arrangement. Does such a woman even exist?"

Sherlock's eyes lit up in delight.

"John, you are a genius!"

A warm feeling of pleasure filled John's veins at the prince's exclamation, causing him to almost overlook his words.

"Wait, what?" John sputtered with all the grace he could muster. (It was not much.) "Are you telling me that you actually have someone in mind?" He had certainly not been expecting _that_.

"I know just the person, John. She will be perfect." Realization dawned, and John made to protest, calling to his friend. Sherlock, however, was already halfway down the corridor, off to track down his fake bride.

John sunk down into an armchair, resting his head in his hands.

That poor woman deserved better. Sherlock was completely oblivious to her feelings for him, and, although John suspected his friend's feelings for her were far from platonic, this entire scheme had the beginnings of a complete disaster.

XXXXX

Molly was outside, lovingly tending the rose bushes in the courtyard where she had first met Sherlock when he found her.

She was just about finished with her task when she heard the familiar footsteps walk up behind her. Hiding a grin, Molly acted like she hadn't noticed him approach. Nothing irked the prince more than being ignored.

"Do not play coy, Molly. I know you heard me. Tobias," he greeted seriously, turning his attention momentarily to the preening cat. Sherlock's relationship with Toby had always fascinated her. He treated the feline more like an important confidante than her beloved pet.

Molly continued caring for the flowers, knowing Sherlock would eventually reveal why he had hunted her down in the middle of the afternoon. Usually he was very considerate of the fact that she was far too busy during the day and did not bother her until later.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, Sherlock broke.

"Molly…."

If that sound had come out of the mouth of anyone except Sherlock, she would have called it a whine. Something in his tone sounded strange to her well-trained ears, however, so she pushed herself to her knees and twisted her neck around to gaze at him.

He looked worn out, and his eyes were imploring her to help him, though she could not fathom what he could require from her.

"What do you need?"

"You."

Her garden shears landed on the moist ground with a thump.

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 **Review?**


	3. Chapter 2

**And, here's the next chapter! I really enjoyed writing this one!**

* * *

" _What do you need?"_

" _You."_

 _Her garden shears landed on the moist ground with a thump._

Molly stared, slack-jawed, at Sherlock, convinced she had misunderstood him.

 _Could he really mean…? No, that was preposterous. But what if…?_

Molly remained lost in her thoughts for several minutes, pondering what Sherlock could possibly have meant, until she realized that he was gazing at her expectantly, awaiting a response.

"W-what?" she managed, still too shocked to utter anything more eloquent. She inhaled deeply to calm her racing heartbeat and tried again. "What could you possibly need _me_ for?"

Sherlock appeared startled momentarily before he visibly collected himself and returned to his normal, inscrutable expression. If Molly had not been staring at him so intensely, she might have missed it altogether.

"I was called to a meeting with Mycroft and Mummy this morning." He did not elaborate further, but Molly had listened to enough of his grumblings about "royal expectations" to understand the gravity of that sentence.

"Oh." _How articulate, Molly,_ she mentally chastised herself. "You're to be married, then?"

She ignored how her heart clenched at the news. It should not have come as such a surprise, especially considering he had been anticipating this very moment. Molly, however, could not help the feeling of utter despair that filled her at the notion of Sherlock's nuptials. Although she had reminded herself time and again that Sherlock would never return her feelings, and would always remain just out of her reach, knowing that he remained unattached allowed a small measure of hope to survive within her heart. Now, she felt it wilting like a flower without a source of water.

"Yes," he replied. "Everything is exactly as I feared, it seems. Well, _almost_ , as I feared," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Molly watched him retreat inside himself, an action she had witnessed numerous times over the years.

Because she knew he could remain as such for hours, Molly spared a few moments to really observe the man she considered her best friend.

His green jacket, adorned with intricate designs stitched into the fabric with gold thread, was left open to reveal a vibrant blue shirt underneath. The bright colors stood in stark contrast to the dull grey of her own frock. He completed the outfit with a pair of tight, cream trousers that must have been tailored specifically for him, judging by the way they hugged his body. (Molly had never been jealous of an item of clothing before, but there was always a first time for everything.)

The entire ensemble gave off an image of wealth and influence, a vivid reminder of his station in the kingdom.

The only aspect of his appearance that was not immaculate was his dark brown curls, arranged haphazardly in every direction as though he had run his fingers through them several times. That, combined with a tenseness in his shoulders that was not normally present, informed Molly that the prince was more distressed by his impending marriage than he would like others to believe.

Unfortunately for him, Molly was an expert in all things Sherlock Holmes. His unease did not escape her scrutiny.

Twisting her lower body slightly, Molly pushed onto her palms and raised herself to her feet. Wiping her muddied hands on her skirt (the thing was already filthy, so a bit more dirt wouldn't hurt), she tiptoed over to Sherlock and placed a hand on his forearm.

"Sherlock?" she called quietly. (She had made the mistake once of pulling him from his mind palace too abruptly, and had had to endure four hours of him droning on about ruining his "thought process." She would not be doing _that_ again.)

Sherlock blinked slowly, awareness returning to his beautiful eyes. Shaking his head, Sherlock finally glanced down at her, amazed to find her so close.

"Right," he spoke at last. "What were you saying, Molly?"

Molly suspected he recalled exactly what they had been discussing, but humored the prince anyway. "You're to be married, then, Sherlock?" she repeated, too accustomed to him to be bothered by his abrupt demeanor.

"Yes. My engagement is to be announced at the Adler welcoming ball in a fortnight."

Stepping away from her, Sherlock settled himself on the bench in their garden. (Molly had begun to refer to it as such, as they were the only palace occupants to venture into this secluded courtyard.)

"To whom?" Molly could not help asking. But who would blame her, really, for wanting to know the name of the woman betrothed to the man she loved?

"I do not know, exactly. I have until the evening of the ball to select my own wife, or I am to be promised to Princess Irene of Belgravia in the name of diplomacy." The way he spit out the words left little doubt as to his feelings about diplomacy and his proposed part in it.

Molly recalled all that she knew about Princess Irene.

From what she had heard, the princess would make a fine match for Sherlock. Her beauty and intelligence were lauded throughout Baker and its neighboring kingdoms. It was rumored that Princess Irene once single-handedly fought off a band of men sent by Lord Moriarty to kidnap her and force her father into an alliance. Sally had talked about it nonstop at the time.

If anyone could equal Sherlock Holmes, it would be Irene Adler.

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well that is actually why I sought you out. I need your assistance."

"Do you want me to help you select someone?"

Most of the ladies of the court would kill to marry a prince, let alone one as attractive as Sherlock. He would have his pick of potential wives.

Sherlock sighed in exasperation. "Of course not." _Oh thank God._ "I want you to be my fiancée."

Alarm bells started ringing in Molly's head, urging her to proceed with caution. She chuckled half-heartedly. "Really funny, Sherlock."

"I am not joking, Molly," Sherlock cut her off seriously, the tone of his voice alerting her to his sincerity. Molly gulped heavily in response, not meeting his gaze. The hem of her apron was vastly more interesting to her right now. "There is no one I would rather be engaged to than you."

Molly felt the ember of hope reignite in her chest. _Where is the catch? There has to be one, right?_

"At least until I can determine a way out of this mess altogether." _Ah. There it is._

"Hold on, you want me to… what? Pretend to be your fiancée?"

Oh, this was so much worse than she had assumed.

Sherlock looked like he was fighting the urge to kiss her. He stood up and began pacing in front of her, waving his arms enthusiastically.

"Exactly, Molly! I knew you would understand! We fool everyone (excluding John, of course, this was his idea after all) into believing we are in love. They should have no problem accepting it, considering they already see us together all of the time anyway, and then, once I discover how to get out of this, we return to normal!"

Sherlock was talking so quickly that Molly was having difficulty catching everything that spewed from his mouth. She caught the gist, however, and noticed one glaringly obvious flaw in his plan.

"And if you cannot find a way out? What happens then, Sherlock?"

Sherlock stilled his movements momentarily, pondering over her question. At last, he met her brown eyes with his. "I suppose we would have to wed. Would that really be so horrible, Molly?"

Sherlock appeared unsure all of a sudden, as if finally realizing that he may not succeed. And because Molly Hooper was a fool when in his presence, she offered him a shy smile in comfort. "I suppose I could live with it. If I had to," she teased, hitting him lightly on the chest.

Sherlock grinned, kneeling down and positioning himself between her feet. "If you agree to this, Molly, I vow to you, I will do everything within my power to ensure that you and I never actually marry. You have my word."

 _Great. Absolutely perfect._

"Can I have few days to think it over?"

"Of course, Molly." He grabbed her hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of it. A gasp escaped Molly's lips at the intimate gesture.

"I will await your response."

XXXXX

"He asked you to do _what?!_ "

"Sally!" Molly hissed.

She slapped a hand over her friend's mouth, pushing her further into their shared bedroom before the curious ears of their fellow servants could latch on to their conversation.

"Someone could hear you!" Molly glanced around furtively and quickly closed the door, sparing the other woman a glare as she turned towards her.

At least Sally had the decency to look guilty.

"Sorry," she uttered, although the tone of her voice was anything but apologetic. Sally Donovan's straightforwardness was one of the many things that Molly loved about her – even if it had landed them both in trouble more often than not.

"Seriously, though, he actually had the gall to ask you to act like his fiancée?" Sally huffed in irritation. She had always been rather outspoken about her exasperation with Sherlock (and Molly's relationship with him). "Who does he think he is?!"

"A prince, I'd presume," Molly replied drily, but her teasing expression softened when she saw the concern on Sally's face. "Yes, Sherlock _requested_ that I assist him in this matter, and I really think–"

"I have half a mind to tell him where he can shove his request!" Sally interrupted snidely. "If he thinks for one minute–"

"Sally!" Molly interjected again. "He's a _prince._ You know, a member of the ruling family of the _entire kingdom_?" She sighed at the determined look etched on Sally's face.

"Sally, I appreciate you looking out for me, _truly_ , but you must realize that you can't confront him. I doubt he would say anything, but if one of the other servants overheard and reported back to Mrs. Prince, you'd be out of the palace immediately. You know that."

Resignation flickered over the other maid's face as she sat down on the edge of their bed. Molly felt guilty that she was responsible for putting it there.

"Yes, I do, Molly, it's just…. I have watched Prince Sherlock take you for granted for years in silence. Mostly," she amended at the disbelieving look on Molly's face.

"But this… this has to be the most selfish thing he has ever done! And the worst part is that he doesn't even realize! So much for 'brightest mind in the kingdom,'" she muttered darkly.

Molly smiled in understanding and strolled over to sit beside her friend on the bed (if one could call the lumpy cot they slept on a bed).

Sally Donovan was one of the kindest and most considerate people she had ever met. It was Sally who had stayed up all night to hold her as she cried over her parents deaths, whispering words of comfort to the younger girl. The two women had only grown closer over the years as they commiserated together over their plights in life and Mrs. Prince's absurd demands.

"You cannot protect me forever, Sally. You're the closest thing I have to a sister, and I love you, but you need to let me make my own decisions. Even if you don't agree with them."

Sally groaned and laid her head on Molly's shoulder, rubbing her cheek affectionately against Molly's soft hair. "I hate it when you use reason and logic against me," she grumbled.

Molly laughed, stroking Sally's dark curls. "Besides, Sherlock agreed to give me time to think over his proposition. I don't have to say yes."

"But you are going to, aren't you?"

"Probably. I've never been able to refuse him anything."

The two women sat in silence for several minutes, both thinking of Molly's relationship with the prince and her inability to tell him no.

In an attempt to break the melancholy mood in the quiet room, Molly sprang up, accidentally removing Sally's head from her shoulder in the process. "But hey! Maybe being engaged to Sherlock will be so awful and eye-opening that I will finally get over him for good!"

Sally chuckled at her friend's optimism, the result Molly had been hoping for.

"Maybe," Sally agreed halfheartedly, although both women knew the likelihood of that happening was rare. Molly had attempted to move on many times over the years, and each time the result was the same. She had already put up with too much to let something as silly as a fake engagement destroy her affections.

"Well, now that you know about the latest happenings in my life, what is going on in yours? I feel like I haven't spoken to you properly in weeks. I did notice you speaking with Greg earlier."

Molly's abrupt change in topic was an unsubtle attempt to move the conversation away from herself. Molly knew they would have to return to the matter at a later time, but, for now, at least, Sally appeared content to let it go.

At the reminder of her conversation with Captain Lestrade, Sally's face broke out into the largest smile Molly had ever seen her wear. She was struck by how gorgeous her friend was. Sally was a beautiful woman, with her luminescent skin and dark, curly locks, but her visage brightened even more when she smiled like this.

It warmed Molly's heart to see her friend so happy.

"He told me that, if his meeting with Crown Prince Mycroft tomorrow goes well, I should be able to start training soon!" Sally practically bubbled with excitement. "Wouldn't that be fantastic, Molly?! Sally Donovan, newest member of the Palace Guard!"

Molly lunged toward Sally, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug that Sally eagerly returned.

"Sally, congratulations! I am so proud of you! You are going to be a brilliant guard!"

"Thanks, Molly," Sally replied shyly, not accustomed to anyone complimenting her. Few people dug beyond the tough exterior Sally displayed to the world to uncover the amazing and brave woman underneath.

Surprisingly enough, Sherlock was one of those few people. Even though the two bickered constantly, when in each other's presence (due in large part to the differences in their upbringings and Sherlock's treatment of Molly), it was clear that he respected Sally immensely. In fact, his support was likely a factor in Sally's imminent acceptance into the Palace Guard.

"Now we just need to make your dreams come true, Molly, and we will both be happy!" She squeezed Molly once more before pulling back to grin at the other woman.

The shrill voice of Mrs. Prince calling their names reminded them that they both had work to be done, and that they had been talking for much longer than they realized. They hurriedly pulled apart, collecting themselves and straightening their aprons before rushing off to their chores.

For the remainder of the day, however, Sally's final words played through Molly's mind on repeat. _We just need to make your dreams come true… Make your dreams come true… Your dreams…._

Unfortunately, Molly realized as she pondered over the words, she wasn't sure what her dreams were anymore.

XXXXX

Sherlock ambled aimlessly through the vast maze of corridors that made up the palace, lost in thoughts of the meeting he had just left with Captain Lestrade.

Lord Moriarty's son, James, had seemingly vanished mere days after his father's execution three months prior, and the disappearance left him feeling remarkably uneasy. Sherlock had never personally met the man, but rumors travelled quickly in Baker, whispers of the nobleman's cunning and malicious nature spreading like wildfire throughout the kingdom.

The captain, it seemed, shared his apprehension, and Sherlock had given the man permission to seek the missing lord. Surmising there was nothing more to be done until Lestrade gathered more evidence, Sherlock pushed the younger Moriarty to the back of his mind.

Scanning his surroundings, Sherlock was not surprised to find himself in the eastern wing of the large castle, outside the large library. Few people wandered here, but, as he heard a soft voice drifting into the hallway from the door to his left, Sherlock knew exactly who he would find in the room beyond.

Quite fortunate, really, considering he could think of no one he would rather converse with more at the moment than Molly Hooper.

His relationship with the girl was a strange one.

Even with his limited knowledge of social interaction he recognized that much. Princes were not supposed to associate with servants; Mycroft reminded him of that fact often enough. No matter how many "acceptable" women his brother forced him to interact with, however, none understood him quite as well as the brilliant, kind young woman currently talking the ear off of a rather plump rat.

Sherlock smiled at the sight, quickly darting behind a bookshelf and watching as Molly dusted the tomes in the palace's overflowing library. He rarely found an opportunity to observe Molly unnoticed, as she seemed to have a second sense that alerted her every time he was near. Today, however, she was too focused on her conversation and her task to detect his presence.

"And then he asked me to be his fiancé, Gus! His _fiancée_!" Molly exclaimed exasperatedly, brushing her cloth against a shelf with a little more force than necessary.

Sherlock leaned forward to hear better, ignoring the voice in his head (sounding eerily like John) telling him that he should not be eavesdropping.

"And I want to help him. Of course I do! But that would mean spending even _more_ time with him, and it's already hard enough now! What do you think I should do, Gus?" she asked quietly, gazing down at the chubby critter, who stared back at her expectantly.

Molly sighed, reaching into the pocket of her apron and producing a handful of day-old bread crumbs. She tossed them to the ground, where the mouse ( _Gus?)_ happily devoured them.

"Why am I asking you, anyway? It isn't like you can understand me. You're just a rat. What do you care?"

Sherlock had never heard her sound so downtrodden. One of the things he lo- liked about Molly Hooper was her upbeat and happy disposition. Certainly, it contrasted with his, but he liked to think their differences balanced each other out. He had benefited from Molly's optimistic nature on several occasions. Many successful experiments would have been left incomplete were it not for Molly's encouragement.

The fact that she was still friends with him after all this time was also a testament to how extraordinary she was. A lesser woman would have been done with him ages ago.

As such, Sherlock could not bear to see that forlorn expression on Molly's face any longer. Stealthily, he snuck back to the half-open door, banging it loudly against the wall as he pulled it open. Molly's head shot up at the loud thump, and her mouth broke out into a hesitant smile as she noticed him.

"Sherlock! I wasn't expecting to see you today," she declared, although her face still brightened at the sight of him. A small part of Sherlock delighted at the fact that he was responsible for improving her mood.

"I apologize, Molly. Am I interrupting something?" His eyebrow lifted teasingly as she glanced down at the rodent still happily chomping away near her feet. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink color as she laced her fingers together and brushed down her skirt self-consciously.

"N-not at all, Sherlock. I was just surprised, that's all." Molly squared her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly, finally meeting his gaze. "Did you need something?"

"No, I just wanted to see you." He grinned when her blush deepened.

She bowed her head and turned to begin dusting once more. She busied herself with the bookshelves, perhaps focusing more of her attention on the task than was strictly necessary. From the tensing of her shoulders and her reluctance to look at him, however, Sherlock could tell she was deliberating intensely about something. (The feelings he had overheard gave him a decent idea what that something was.)

He walked quietly behind her, giving her time to organize her thoughts.

Finally, he heard a sharp intake of breath, halting his movements and focusing all of his attention on the small woman.

"I've been thinking about your proposal, Sherlock," she started, pivoting to meet his gaze.

"Hmm?" he replied, not wanting to seem too eager. Clearly, she was hesitant to agree, and he did not want to pressure her to do so.

"Before I agree to this… arrangement, I do have a few questions for you." Sherlock motioned for her to continue.

"How… how long do you think the arrangement would last? A few weeks? A month? A year?" Her voice cracked on the last word, and she broke eye contact, staring intensely at a stain on her skirt instead.

"I cannot say with any certainty, but I assure you that, if it continues on longer than you would like, we will of course end the charade. Whenever you want."

"Al-alright. What… what exactly would be expected of me as your… as your fiancée?"

"I would need to introduce you officially to my parents as soon as possible. Your wardrobe will be updated accordingly. We cannot have a future princess roaming the palace in rags. Then, there would, of course, be mandatory lessons in proper court etiquette. You have always been smart; so, there should not be any trouble there. Finally, as we will be announcing the betrothal publically at the ball, I will have to teach you to dance."

He said everything in the rapid-fire manner in which he was accustomed, too absorbed in his speech to notice that Molly had become very still. When he finally paused for breath, however, Molly's eyes were as wide as saucers. He delicately reached out a hand to clumsily pat her on the shoulder.

"Molly?" he called, bending his knees slightly so that his eyes were level with hers. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she answered distractedly, before shaking her head and looking at him once more. "It's a lot to take in."

"Yes, I expect it is." He straightened and pulled away, his fingers lingering on the skin of her neck a moment longer than decorum would deem appropriate.

He flexed his hand as it returned to his side. "Do you have any further inquiries, Molly?"

"Well I was wondering…. How affectionate would we be expected…? That is to say…. Would we have to…?"

"Kiss?" he answered for her. She nodded shyly, and Sherlock watched as that lovely pink hue returned to her cheeks. Her eyes roved all over the crowded library, seemingly everywhere except his face.

Memories flickered to the forefront of his mind, the bumbling exploits of two teenagers desperate to discover if the real thing measured up to the assertions of their friends. (It had, much to Sherlock's astonishment, and Molly's dismay.)

Sherlock had promptly relegated the instance to a dark, locked corner of his mind palace, never to be contemplated again until this very moment.

"Well, it would not be the first time, would it?" he joked, wanting— _needing_ — to bring a smile to her face.

Molly's head shot up at the quip, a hint of some unnamed emotion lurking in her expressive, brown eyes. The left side of her mouth tilted up as she stared at him. "No, I suppose it wouldn't," she replied, biting her lip in an attempt to hide her grin.

"So…," he began, only to trail off as he collected his thoughts. "Have you come to a decision? Or do you still need more time?"

Molly considered his question for several minutes, chewing her lip and twisting her hands unconsciously. "I accept," she finally answered, bashfully meeting his eyes again.

Sherlock beamed down at her elatedly. "Thank you, Molly!"

Without realizing what his body had planned, he leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss to the petite woman's cheek. Her entire body tensed at the contact, and Sherlock felt more than heard her sharp gasp. He moved away slightly, only enough to gaze at her, and read the confusion swimming in her eyes. His apology was on the tip of his tongue, yearning to be set free, when a timid voice called through the open door behind him.

"Molly, Mrs. Prince was asking for y– Oh! Y-your Highness!" The thin, mousy-haired servant bowed comically, his head nearly touching the stone floor at his feet. "I didn't expect to find you here!"

"Obviously," Sherlock replied drily. The back of Molly's small hand hit his abdomen in rebuke, and he had to bite down a chuckle at the blatant disregard for social customs. This fake engagement might be more entertaining than he had first surmised.

"S-sorry, Sir, but I-I have come to r-retrieve Molly. Mrs. Prince requires her in the kitchens to h-help prepare s-supper."

Sherlock tilted his head to observe the young man. He was an unremarkable fellow, his brunette hair in need of a good wash and trim. Sherlock distantly recalled Molly grumbling about him one day a month or so back, complaining about the bloke's unwanted romantic advancements towards her.

Sherlock had discretely ordered Mrs. Prince to keep him and Molly separated, and his name had not been mentioned again. He tried to recall what it was ( _Jack? Jasper?)_ but kept drawing a blank.

Sherlock let the matter go, as he really wasn't important anyway.

The prince turned fully towards the shorter man, puffing his chest out and squaring his shoulders. "Well, _Jamie_." _Ah hah! That was it!_ "You can inform the illustrious Mrs. Prince that she will have to make do without Miss Hooper's help from now on. It really would not do for the fiancée of a prince to debase herself with menial household tasks, now would it?"

Sherlock smirked at the look of pure and unadulterated shock on the other man's face. "F-fiancée?!" he sputtered, spittle flying from his mouth. His eyes darted between the pair of them, trying to comprehend the bombshell Sherlock had just uttered.

Rumors would be circulating by the time supper was served. Excellent.

"Yes. Miss Hooper has just agreed to become my wife. I believe it is customary to congratulate a couple upon learning of their engagement?"

The man's cheeks burned an ugly scarlet as he hastened to correct his egregious error, stammering a congratulations before quickly bowing again and making his exit from the library. Sherlock took a great deal of pleasure out of flustering him.

Molly slapped his arm, and Sherlock turned his smirk on her. "Should I not have done that, Molly?"

"No, Sherlock! The poor chap looked like he was going to have a heart attack!"

"Sorry," he spoke, but the grin refused to leave his mouth.

"We're really doing this, then?" Molly asked, staring at the spot the man had vacated.

"It would appear so."

* * *

 **Please review and let me know what you thought! 3**


	4. Chapter 3

**Happy early Christmas, lovelies! I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season, whatever you celebrate!**

 **This is really more of a filler chapter, as far as plot goes, but it's still one of my favorites!**

* * *

After parting with Sherlock, Molly scurried through the palace halls, desperate to return to the room she shared with Sally. She did not fail to notice, however, the trail of whispers and curious glances she left in her wake.

It seemed the news of her engagement had spread more quickly than she thought it would. Ignoring the stares of the other servants, Molly finally reached her destination, slamming the door shut and falling back onto her bed. She was not regretting her decision to help Sherlock (heaven knew she would never be able to refuse him anything), but she was just beginning to realize the consequences of such an arrangement.

When (if?) the entire engagement was called off, what would happen to her? Sherlock certainly would be fine. His agreeing to marry anyone would be more surprising than him abruptly ending it. No one in the entirety of the kingdom would be startled to learn that the youngest member of the royal family had decided not to wed after all.

As a woman in her position, however, her reputation was likely to be irrevocably damaged following a terminated betrothal. No one in their right mind would dare approach the prince's jilted bride-to-be. Lucky for her, then, that the only man with whom she wanted to spend her life was the one man determined never to marry anyone.

She was pulled from her melancholy thoughts by the bedroom door sliding open. She glanced up only to find the pitying glances of Greg and Sally focused on her. Molly hated being pitied, especially when her problems were the result of her own decisions.

"Y-yes?" she asked nonchalantly, resolved to force one of them bring up the elephant in the room. She certainly would not be opening up that particular topic of conversation.

"It's decided, then?" Sally questioned, her voice a mixture of resignation and disappointment. "News travels fast. You've agreed."

"I have," Molly replied resolutely, sitting up and straightening her shoulders. She kept her hands steady by her sides, refusing to show any outward sign of her turmoil.

Sally shared a look with Greg. Molly had seen that expression many times, always when she did something (usually concerning the prince in question) of which they did not approve, but knew she could not be swayed.

They sauntered through the open doorway, each plopping down on one side of her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"I really hope you know what you're doing, Molly," Greg muttered, squeezing her lightly in comfort.

Molly reached a hand up to rest on his arm. "Me too, Greg."

They sat there together for several minutes, before Sally spoke up. "Well, on the bright side, no more chores for you, Miss Hooper."

The trio broke out into loud chuckles, the tense atmosphere effectively shattered.

XXXXX

Molly jolted awake, a bright stream of sunlight filtering through the dirty window above her head, causing her to groan. Usually, she woke before the sun even considered coming out of hiding. However, she had been unable to fall asleep until the early hours of the morning, too consumed with thoughts of what was to happen today. When she did finally drift off, it was into an uneasy slumber interspersed with dreams that left her sweating and on edge.

Sally must have left some time ago, as the bed beside her was cool to the touch. Molly silently thanked the other woman; she really was a remarkably selfless friend.

A thump on her door broke her out of her reverie, alerting her to what had awakened her in the first place. How she had managed to overlook the loud knocking was a mystery likely never to be solved. Molly considered ignoring the intruder and going back to sleep, but the longer she laid there, the more insistent the banging became. Grumbling to herself, Molly stumbled out of bed and over to the door.

She knew of only one person in the entire kingdom who would dare rouse her so callously.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" she griped irritably, opening the door to find him pacing outside. Moving aside to allow him entry, she staggered over to her wardrobe, still too tired to worry about gracelessness, and began looking for something appropriate to wear.

Sherlock was officially introducing her to his family today, and Molly was certain she had never been more nervous in her life.

Muttering under his breath, Sherlock strode up beside her, hastily sifting through her (admittedly meager) selection of dresses and pulling one out at random.

"This one," he said, tossing it to her.

Molly desperately wanted to tell him that she could dress herself, _thank you very much_ , but, when she glanced down at the garment in her arms, she begrudgingly had to agree with his selection. It was inarguably the nicest frock she owned, even if it was a far cry from the over-the-top ensembles favored by the ladies of the court.

"Is there something else, Sherlock?" Molly asked when Sherlock made no move to leave the room. They might be technically engaged now, but there was absolutely no way Molly was undressing in front of him.

"Hmm? Oh! Yes." Sherlock fumbled through his coat pocket. At any other time, Molly would have loved watching the man in such a jittery state. Something in his eyes, however, told her that this was an important moment, and she ought not to squander it with an inappropriately-timed giggle.

Molly gasped when he pulled out a small, gold ring. The central, moderately-sized diamond was surrounded on all sides by smaller gemstones of every color. They sparkled as the ring caught a beam of sunshine, decorating the room with spots of vibrant light.

Sherlock reached out and slid the band onto her finger, prompting Molly to look up at him. "Sherlock, what…?"

"I retrieved it from the family vault this morning. We have more elaborate rings if you would prefer, but I thought you would like this one. It reminded me of you."

Molly pulled her hand back, twisting it every which way to examine the ring. The lights on the walls danced in response.

"It's beautiful."

It truly was the most exquisite piece of jewelry she had ever seen up close. Its cool perfection contrasted drastically with her hand, dry and calloused from years of manual labor. Something so stunning had no place on the finger of a servant, no matter how it came to be there.

"There is not a finger in the world it belongs on more than yours, Molly Hooper," Sherlock stated quietly, reading her thoughts in that annoying habit of his. He reached out and cupped her hand in his, lightly stroking her knuckle above the ring with his thumb.

"And look, Molly. It is a perfect fit."

Molly grinned in spite of her reservations; the ring hugged her finger as though it was designed for her.

Sensing her compliance, Sherlock stepped back, dropping her hand with a final squeeze.

"I will leave you to get changed now. Meet me outside the Queen's Parlor in twenty minutes, in front of that ridiculous portrait of King Frederick the Flamboyant?"

Molly nodded, still too stunned by the turn of events to speak.

It was not until she heard the door slam behind him that she realized what he had said. She began getting dressed in earnest, hoping that she would be able to endure the next hour or so without embarrassing herself in front of the entire royal family.

XXXXX

The meeting went surprisingly well, all things considered.

Prompt as always, Molly was already standing by the painting when Sherlock arrived at the designated location. Her lower lip had marks from where she had bitten it in her nervousness.

As he pulled her towards the parlor, Sherlock reached out and interlaced their fingers. The action was undertaken to remind Molly of his presence, and possibly to help sell their story. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way her hand felt, fitting seamlessly within his.

Sherlock pushed open the door without knocking, revealing three sets of eyes staring intently at the pair of them in the entryway. Gripping Molly's hand tighter, he dragged her into the room alongside him.

His mother, seated in the center of the plush sofa, glanced back and forth between himself and Molly with an almost-giddy expression on her wrinkled face. Her lively, blue eyes danced in merriment as she said, "Sherlock, is this her?!"

Sherlock was rather amazed that she was not clapping her hands and hopping around in excitement. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his mother's antics.

"Obviously."

Molly nudged him. When he peeked down at her, she leveled him with a glare with which he was quite familiar – the one that translated to "Don't be rude, Sherlock!" in silent, Molly Hooper language.

"Sorry, Mummy," he mumbled, staring down at his feet. His next words were much louder. "Yes, this is Miss Molly Hooper. My fiancée."

A scoff from the corner prompted Sherlock's gaze to shoot over to where Mycroft was standing with a skeptical look.

"Something you would like to add, _brother mine_?"

The crown prince pushed himself off the wall against which he was propped, examining his sibling with a calculating stare.

"You honestly expect us to believe that _you_ , of all people, have not only managed to find some poor girl that you are willing to marry, but that you have also done so with seven days to spare?" he asked incredulously.

Sherlock felt Molly stiffen beside him, and spoke up before she could.

As much as he would enjoy watching the tiny woman verbally annihilate his brother, now was not the time. _Maybe later._

"Molly has been one of my closest friends since we were both children. She is intelligent, kind, and remarkably perceptive. There is no one I trust more to assist with my experiments, nor is there anyone more knowledgeable upon the subjects of biology and anatomy. Is it really so inconceivable that I would wish to spend the rest of my life with her? The only reason that I did not name her prior to this moment was solely due to the fact that I was unsure as to whether she would agree to marry _me_."

Mycroft's gob smacked expression would have thrilled Sherlock if he was not certain a similar one could be found on his own face. He had not meant to reveal that much; however, once he had begun spouting all of Molly's attributes, he could not seem to stop himself.

"Sherlock – marry a servant, of all people? Father, surely you are not going to allow this?!"

The king considered his youngest son for a long moment, his keen eyes analyzing everything. Mummy always said her children received their probing natures from their father.

Finally meeting Sherlock's gaze, the older man tilted his head. "Do you love her?"

For such a seemingly simple question, the answer was anything but.

Sherlock had been expecting the question – anticipated it even – but it still gave him pause. The future of this entire endeavor hinged upon the next words out of his mouth. He tried to recall the reply he had rehearsed endlessly, but, when he opened his mouth, only three words streamed out.

"Yes. I do."

As the words slipped off his tongue, they did not feel quite like the lie they were supposed to be.

XXXXX

The next several days flew by for Molly in a whirlwind of dress fittings, etiquette lessons, and elaborate dinners. For someone used to performing manual labor from sunrise to sunset, Molly doubted she had ever been so exhausted in her entire life. Who knew playing princess would be so demanding?

The only person who outwardly protested her engagement was Crown Prince Mycroft. However, since both the king and queen had accepted Sherlock's chosen bride, he was less vocal about his dissent than he would have been otherwise. He had always maintained that Sherlock should stay away from people he deemed beneath them, which was likely one of the reasons Sherlock sought her out so often.

On the few occasions she had been forced to interact with the stern eldest prince, he and Molly had effectively ignored each other, both content to pretend the other did not exist. Thus, the system worked well for all involved.

The first order of business after the nerve-wracking introduction to the royal family was Molly's relocation to a new room – one which, to quote the queen, "was more befitting a prince's fiancée." The room was bedecked in autumnal hues of yellow, red, and orange, and Molly supposed she could fit the entirety of the quarters she had shared with Sally into her new wardrobe alone.

Sally, for her part, had begun training with Lestrade and his soldiers, and had thus moved into lodgings on the opposite side of the palace. Due to their hectic schedules, the two women had not seen much of each other since the night Molly accepted Sherlock's proposal. Although she missed her friend dearly, Molly was glad that Sally's dreams were finally coming to fruition.

Unfortunately, that meant she had no one to commiserate with about her current situation.

"Step on _three_ , Miss Hooper. Three!"

"I'm trying!" she shouted to the frazzled dance instructor, whose upbeat demeanor had steadily declined over the past hour.

"Let us try it again."

The man signaled to his assistant to start the music and pulled Molly into his embrace. They had only been waltzing for a few seconds, however, when Molly accidentally (or so she would swear until her dying breath) trod on the man's foot. He yelped in pain, jumping wildly about on one foot.

He glared at Molly's muttered, "Oops."

"Problem?" a much deeper baritone voice called out from the other side of the ballroom. Shivers ran down Molly's spine at his tone, and she hated that he could still affect her like that after all of these years.

"This is hopeless!" the instructor exclaimed, throwing his arms up as he gingerly set his injured limb back on the ground. Molly silently agreed with him.

"Perhaps she just needs a better partner," Sherlock remarked wryly, not sparing the sputtering man another glance as he took Molly in his arms and spun her around effortlessly.

"I think he might be right, Sherlock," Molly whispered to her new dance partner. "I cannot seem to get the hang of this – See?" she added apologetically as she tripped over her own feet.

"I will let you in on a secret my mother told me when I was five, and seemingly as inept at this as you. 'If you are going to dance, at least pretend you can dance well,'" he mimicked in a startlingly accurate portrayal of the queen. "Act like you know what you are doing, Molly, and no one else will be able to tell otherwise."

"No one except the hundred or so nobles who _actually_ know what they are doing, you mean."

"Insecurity does not suit you, Molly," Sherlock pronounced knowingly.

He tilted her chin up with two fingers, forcing Molly to meet his gaze. "Look at me, and remember what I said."

Sherlock motioned with his free hand, and music filled the room in an instant. Molly stumbled along at first, but, as she focused on Sherlock and his advice instead of the intricate motions of the dance, her confidence began to grow.

After a while, the pair were weaving and twirling around the room as though they had done this a million times. Molly laughed when Sherlock spun her theatrically, his answering smile warming her heart.

As the music came to a dramatic end, Sherlock dipped her, causing all the air to leave Molly's lungs. He hauled her back up, the motion bringing her mouth a hairsbreadth from Sherlock's.

She had not been this close to him since that youthful (and wonderful) kiss they had shared on her fifteenth birthday. Molly found herself wondering if his lips still tasted the same, a strange combination of tobacco, peppermint, and something else uniquely Sherlock.

Alas, she would not be discovering the solution to that query today, as loud applause echoed from their left. They hastily pulled away from each other, glancing at the other once more before turning and taking a bow.

"I will see you at the ball tomorrow, Molly?" Sherlock asked uncertainly after their audience had dispersed to return to their chores. Both were shuffling uncomfortably, refusing to make eye contact.

"Yes, of course. I can't wait." She offered him a small smile before scampering off to her final fitting for her ball gown. It was set to begin in ten minutes, and the seamstress was notoriously persnickety about punctuality.

Neither Sherlock nor Molly noticed the inconspicuous, brunette man hovering in the corner, who had been avidly watching their interaction since Sherlock had first taken over as Molly's dance partner.

* * *

 **Please review! Tell me what you liked (or didn't, I like criticism, too).**


	5. Chapter 4

**This is my favorite chapter, and the one I had been picturing in my head whenever I started this little story. There is accompanying artwork created by the wonderful Ouishie on AO3. You can message me and I will send you the link.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly could not remember an instant in her life when she had ever been this nervous.

Well, the first time she had met Crown Prince Mycroft had come close, but her father had just died, and she was still reeling from the fact that another prince wanted to be her friend. It was all too much for her six-year-old mind to handle.

Now, however, as she stood waiting in line with dozens of other young women, all dressed up in their finest gowns, Molly desperately willed herself not to hyperventilate. Her corset was already so tight that she was feeling lightheaded; any further oxygen deficiency and she would probably faint.

She also tried to overlook the glares being sent her way from the majority of the other girls. Even though the official announcement of her engagement was to take place in a just a few minutes, it appeared the news had already circulated throughout the kingdom.

Maybe she could convince Sherlock to pass a law prohibiting gossip. (It was definitely something to consider at a later date.)

"You must be Molly Hooper," a sultry voice sounded from behind her.

Molly turned to find the speaker, locking eyes with an elegant, dark-haired woman. Her blood-red gown was accented with gold, matching the ornate tiara placed atop her head. She held herself with the type of confidence one could only gain from being idolized on a daily basis, her gaze roving over the chaos around them with trained detachment.

Molly curtseyed deeply, her right knee nearly hitting the marble floor. "Your Highness." She rose back up, staring at a spot directly beyond the woman's shoulder. "It's an honor to meet you."

Princess Irene stepped forward slowly, compelling Molly to look up. "My dear, the pleasure is all mine. Call me Irene," she purred.

Irene's eyes traveled up and down Molly's body, observing everything from her dress to her posture. Molly offhandedly wondered if this is what it felt like to be a specimen on a microscope slide.

"You are Prince Sherlock's fiancée, is that correct," she stated rather than asked. Molly doubted this woman said anything unless she already knew it to be true.

"Uh huh." _What was it about absurdly attractive brunettes with glorious cheekbones that rendered her completely incapable of coherent speech?_

"Shame." She sighed longingly, before entwining her arm with Molly's and leaning in conspiratorially.

"So, tell me. How does one win the heart of the so-called Virgin Prince?"

"We bonded over phylogenetic trees and cellular physiology," Molly replied, still too stunned by this woman to come up with a better story. Sherlock would be disappointed in her improvisational skills; the princess, however, did not seem to mind one bit.

"Oh, you are a delightful little thing! Does His Highness know what a prize he has won?"

Luckily, Molly was saved from having to answer _that_ as the ballroom doors opened with a loud creak.

The foyer grew quiet as everyone began to organize themselves into a line. Every unmarried woman in the kingdom was to be publicly introduced to the rest of the citizens. Each would then saunter down an elaborate staircase and join everyone else in the ballroom.

As the guest of honor, Irene would enter last; however, as Sherlock's betrothed, Molly would be presented directly before her. All eyes would be on Molly, wordlessly judging the prince's selected bride, sizing her up and likely finding her wanting.

Molly fought the urge to vomit, butterflies swimming uneasily in her stomach.

Irene and Molly separated as they procured their places in the queue. Offering the clearly-nervous woman an understanding expression, Irene spoke up once more. "Find me inside later, darling. I would love to chat some more."

Molly nodded, bracing herself for her forthcoming entrance.

XXXXX

Sherlock watched as each woman arrived, preening under the attention of all of Baker's citizens.

He stood with Mycroft at the foot of the staircase, greeting the bachelorettes as they made their way down. They batted their eyelashes as they tried to catch a prince's attention, pushing their chests out comically. (As if that would tempt either of the Holmes brothers.) Sherlock nearly laughed at their antics, but years of obligatory propriety kept his face expressionless.

 _Ah, the joys of being a prince._

After what felt like hours, the final noblewoman made her way towards the congregation – a distant cousin, if Sherlock remembered correctly. (Various bachelors around the room were already eying her appreciatively. Sherlock surmised that it had to do with the fact that she was sixth in line for the throne more than anything else.)

"Miss Molly Hooper!" the presenter called out.

Almost immediately, the audience's idle chatter died down as everyone straightened, dying to get a glimpse of the youngest prince's alleged fiancée. Sherlock would have glared at them, but Molly chose that moment to step into his line of sight.

She was a vision in blue.

Her gown was made of a soft material, the name of which Sherlock had never bothered to learn, in a bright blue, the color of the sky on a summer morning. Jewels were sewn into the floor-length skirt, glinting like stars under the gleaming lights of the ballroom. Her brown hair had been curled and pulled back from her face. Light makeup had been applied to her face, highlighting her naturally pretty features rather than overshadowing them.

If he had not been so preoccupied, Sherlock would have cursed himself for his mawkish ponderings. As it was, however, he could only focus on the woman slowly ambling towards him.

He watched as she gulped, staring down at all the curious faces gazing back at her. He could almost hear her praying to whatever deity would listen that she would make it all the way down the stairs without falling, despite the fact that her mouth remained closed in a tight-lipped smile that did not reveal any of her concern.

Sherlock strolled forward, detecting the exact moment she noticed him. Her shoulders relaxed, and her chin tilted upwards just the slightest bit. With her perfect posture and stunning gown, she looked every bit the princess-to-be. No one would suspect that she had spent the last ball serving the guests rather than mingling with them.

As she reached the main floor, Sherlock held out his hand, his blue eyes never leaving hers.

When he felt her rest her dainty hand in his, he bowed exaggeratedly and offered her a small smirk. "Shall we, Miss Hooper?"

Molly grinned at his formality.

"I suppose we shall, _Your Highness_ ," she agreed, before returning his bow with a curtsey of her own.

Biting down his chuckle, Sherlock whisked her to the center of the room, where they would commence the evening with a waltz after Princess Irene's arrival. (She was to be escorted by his brother for the remainder of the evening.) Afterwards, everyone would withdraw to the grand dining hall for supper before the actual ball began.

The princess descended amongst a frenzy of excited whispers; her reputation was known well throughout Baker. As she and Mycroft moved to stand beside Sherlock and Molly, she gave the latter a lascivious wink, causing the smaller woman to blush. (Sherlock would hound Molly about _that_ story later.)

The conductor of the orchestra raised his baton, and Molly inhaled sharply, her nerves returning at an alarming rate.

"Remember what I told you, Molly – look at me. Just like we rehearsed."

He took hold of one of her hands, placing the other upon his shoulder before resting his final hand at her waist. He made sure to keep a respectable distance between their bodies even as he pulled her closer. The citizens would be gossiping enough tonight as it was. He did not need to give them anything more to discuss.

As the ensemble began to play, Sherlock led Molly around the floor, twirling and turning her in a series of intricate movements. He spun her out with one arm, draping the other around her back when she returned to him. She took his advice and moved confidently through the choreography, smiling as though she had not a care in the world.

They waltzed together effortlessly, Molly following his example and ignoring everyone else. After a while the audience melted away, and it was just the two of them dancing in a room all by themselves.

They made small talk as the dance continued, Sherlock making Molly giggle as they planned out their next experiment.

 _("I don't think this is appropriate conversation for a ball, Sherlock."_

" _Who cares about propriety, anyway?")_

She looked lovely, nestled in his arms with her attention solely on him, chatting merrily about the latest anatomical advancements.

 _Would it really be so terrible to be married, then, if this was what he had to look forward to every day?_

The music came to an end, and the two couples pulled apart to thunderous applause.

Sherlock kept his hand around Molly's, not willing to end all physical contact with the small woman quite yet. He refused to analyze why.

XXXXX

Supper was a rather lively affair. Sherlock sat between Molly and Lord Watson, the latter of whom watched his friend with a probing gaze. Sherlock ignored him for the most part, electing to eat his meal in silence.

It was also apparent that Princess Irene had taken a liking to Molly. (Yes, he would certainly be questioning Molly about that later.) She had settled herself on the other side of his fiancée, regaling her with tales of her many exploits. Molly listened with rapt attention, prompting Irene for further details on occasion and delighting the princess.

He might have been jealous if Molly was not already engaged to him.

 _But, that would not always be the case, would it?_

One day, he would determine a way around his mother's demand (which, to be honest, he had not given much thought to since Molly agreed to the charade). She would be free to go out and fall in love with whoever she so desired.

The thought of Molly with anyone besides him felt… wrong.

If he was being completely honest about his… _feelings_ (God, how he hated that word), the sight of other men courting Molly had always caused a peculiar sensation to fill his gut, even when they were younger. Perhaps he was not as immune to sentiment as he had constantly proclaimed.

At least not where the tiny woman seated to his right was concerned.

The question then became, would Molly be willing to forfeit the possibility of finding a man she truly loved, and agree to marry him instead?

XXXXX

Molly was having an absolutely divine evening.

After the initial wave of nervousness had disappeared, she found that she was enjoying herself immensely. She noticed the king and queen watching mutely as she conversed gaily with their guest of honor. Whether they were impressed with her or not, however, was anyone's guess.

As the guests wandered back into the ballroom, Molly was held back by a tiny hand gripping the skirt of her dress. Glancing down, she discovered one of the younger serving girls staring up at her with wide-eyed adoration.

"Can I help you, Marie?" she asked kindly, bending down so she was at eye-level with the child.

"Is it true, Miss Molly? You're going to be a real princess?" the girl exclaimed excitedly. "I've never known a real princess before!"

"Well, I… yes," she replied, not wanting to diminish Marie's delight.

"I want to be just like you when I grow up! Do you think I could be a real princess, too?"

Molly looked away, unsure how to answer. The odds of Marie accidentally befriending a prince and then agreeing to be his fake fiancée were, admittedly, not great. However….

"You can be anything you want to be, Marie. Keep up with your studies, do as you're told, and one day, you will find something that makes you insanely happy! Hold on to that, Marie, and, I promise, you will feel like royalty. Even if you don't necessarily get a crown to go with it," she amended, not wanting to give the girl false hope.

"Oh thank you, Miss Molly!" she cried, before practically barreling Molly over in an attempt to give her a hug. Molly returned the embrace warmly. "You are going to be the bestest princess ever!"

With those parting words, Marie ran off, leaving a stunned Molly behind.

"She is right, you know. You will make a fine princess, Molly."

She straightened and whirled around to see a grinning Sherlock standing behind her. He frowned at the distressed look on her face, however, and stepped closer.

"What is it, Molly? What has happened?"

"N-nothing, I just…. She was so happy about our engagement, and I'm sure there are other people just like her – elated at the idea of a prince and servant falling in love. I mean, really, how often does that happen? They are going to be so disappointed when this is over, Sherlock! How can I look them in the eyes and _lie_ to them about this when I know it's going to end sooner or later?!" She was rambling, she knew it, but was helpless to stop it.

"And I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, or anything, you don't want to get married, the engagement is fake, _I know this_ , but–"

"What if it was not?" Sherlock interrupted, effectively ending her tirade.

"What?"

"What if… what if the engagement was real? What if I did want to get married? …To you?" He sounded completely sincere, but she was having a difficult time comprehending the words he was uttering.

Every instinct she had told her to run, before she woke up and realized the past week had all been a dream – a wonderful one, to be sure – but a dream all the same.

"Sherlock, I... I need some air." She pivoted sharply on her heel and hurried towards the closest exit.

"Molly!" she heard him call, but, when she glanced back, Prince Mycroft had intercepted him and halted his pursuit.

Relieved, Molly turned and fled.

XXXXX

Molly wasn't sure where she was headed, only that, as the noise of revelry lessened, so did her panic level. She stopped in an abandoned corridor when she could no longer discern the sounds of the party.

How did Sherlock expect her to react to that revelation, exactly?

He had spent his entire life eschewing any romantic attachments, and now, suddenly, he wanted to marry her? What was she supposed to say?

She would be lying if she said she hadn't wanted to accept immediately, consequences be damned. She had fantasized about this exact scenario dozens of times, but had always reminded herself of the impossibility of such an occurrence.

How could she believe this was real when she had devoted countless hours convincing herself it could never be?

So lost in her thoughts, Molly did not hear the footsteps approaching. It was not until the person was right in front of her that she realized she was no longer alone.

"Molly? I saw you leave by yourself, and you seemed very upset. Are you alright?"

"Oh! Jamie! I'll be fine. I just needed to breathe for a minute."

He looked as though he did not believe her, the doubt clear in his concerned expression. "Are you sure? You disappeared pretty quickly. Do you need some water or something? We could head down to the kitchen and get you some."

"Thank you for the concern, Jamie, but I'm fine. I would like to be alone, though, if you don't mind." Molly gave him a small smile, trying to reassure him that his worry was unnecessary.

His answering smirk, however, was not what she had been expecting.

He moved closer, and alarm bells started ringing in Molly's head. She backed away as much as possible until she felt the wall pressing into her back.

"Oh, Molly, Molly, Molly," he tutted, his voice deeper than usual, and completely devoid of emotion. It sent a chill running down her spine.

He shifted forward slightly again, and Molly detected something sharp digging into her side. She refused to glance down, afraid of what she would see.

"I had hoped we could do this the easy way. Why do you have to be so uncooperative?!" Molly recoiled as his volume increased. He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply to calm himself.

"Now, come with me. There's a good lass," he praised when she began to walk.

He directed her through the castle, conveying when to turn with the knife.

The hum of the celebration was beginning to get louder – _was he taking her_ closer _to the ball?_ Someone called her name, averting her attention away from that puzzling realization.

She recognized that voice. _Oh thank heavens._

"Get rid of her," he hissed in her ear. "Or you will both be sorry."

"Donovan!" She plastered a smile on her face, praying that the other woman would not see her distress.

"Shouldn't you be at the ball, Molly? With your fiancé?" Sally quirked a brow, glancing between the other two quizzically.

"I just had something I needed to show Miss Hooper," Jamie cut in. His tone was back to the sweet, harmless one she had become so accustomed to hearing. "Nothing to fret about."

"It can't wait until after?" Molly tried to communicate with her eyes, begging her friend to let it go. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Sally because of her.

"It has to be taken care of immediately, I'm afraid. Miss Hooper should be back in no time." He beamed at Molly, and, if she wasn't already aware of his twisted mentality, she probably would have trusted him.

"You're sure, Molly?" The knife burrowed further into her back. She was smiling so widely her cheeks were beginning to hurt.

"I'm sure, Donovan. I'll be fine."

"Okay, then." She began to withdraw back towards the party. "Is your husband-to-be aware of where you are, Molly?"

"You know, I didn't have a chance to tell him. Could you be a dear and let him know I'll be right back?"

Sally nodded in agreement before finally returning to the ballroom. Molly breathed out a sigh of relief as she watched her friend go.

"Well, that was close," he spoke conversationally, as though he did not have a large blade pressed against her. "Let's go."

Molly could not contain her curiosity any longer. As they continued towards their (to her, at least) unknown destination, she inquired, "Why are you doing this, Jamie?" She was proud that her voice did not waver.

"The name's James, love. James Moriarty."


	6. Chapter 5

**This chapter is a little shorter than the previous, mainly because this chapter and the next were originally combined into one. My wonderful beta and I, however, agreed that it made more sense to end this chapter here. Hope you don't mind! ;D**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

" _The name is James, love. James Moriarty."_

Molly gasped and tried to move farther away from him. His grip on her upper arm tightened as he began pushing her down another corridor. Covertly, she removed one of her slippers, hoping the deranged man would not notice.

Maybe if she left him clues, Sherlock would find them before the man was able to complete whatever dastardly plan he had in store for her. She only hoped Sally had understood the message she had tried to give her.

Her other shoe remained at the entrance to a dimly-lit corridor where Moriarty took an abrupt right.

She was in the process of unclasping her bracelet when he suddenly stopped outside a familiar door. Glancing furtively around to ensure no one was around, Moriarty slammed the door open and shoved Molly inside in front of him.

Examining the cramped space around them, Moriarty chuckled and pushed Molly into a chair.

"Yes. This will do nicely."

XXXXX

Sherlock stood on the periphery of the dance floor, bored beyond imagination as John droned about something or other. (The name 'Mary', coupled with John's amorous expression, allowed Sherlock to infer the topic of conversation, which he promptly disregarded as a waste of time.)

As his gaze wandered over the mass of people dancing, he noticed a distraught Sally Donovan rush into the room, eyes roving frantically until they locked onto his.

Sally elbowed her way through the crowd (earning several glares from members of the nobility), reaching him in the blink of an eye.

"What is it?" he asked.

In the same instant, she announced, "Molly's in trouble."

It took less than a second for her words to sink in. His heart began beating wildly, a million scenarios running through his mind.

"What do you mean? What has happened?"

She barely let him finish before she began to gesture wildly, recounting all that had occurred in the last five minutes.

"I ran into Molly and that servant, Jamie, outside in the corridor. Molly told me that everything was fine, but she called me Donovan, which she _never_ does! She says it minimalizes our relationship, or something like that. Anyway, I asked if you knew where she was, and she told me in no uncertain terms to find you and inform you of her whereabouts!"

Sally finished her outburst, heaving as she struggled to regain her breath.

Sherlock processed her information. Something was not quite adding up, and he was trying to put his finger on what exactly it was. He replayed her words at breakneck speed, coming to an immediate halt when he realized what exactly she had said. Trepidation sent icy shivers down his body.

"She was with whom?" he uttered, his voice deadly calm.

Sally's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"Jamie, the new servant. He began working here about three months ago. Why?"

"Oh, why did I not see it before? Stupid, stupid!" He slapped himself on the forehead before reaching out to grasp Sally's shoulder. From the way she flinched, his grip was tighter than he had meant it to be.

"Get Captain Lestrade and tell him everything that you have just told me. We need to locate Molly as soon as possible. I fear that Lord Moriarty's son, James, has taken Molly."

"What…?" Sally began, but Sherlock had already departed.

He hurried across the room, skirting around the crowded dance floor until he reached the door from which Sally had entered. Once he had exited the ballroom, he quickened his pace, praying that he would reach Molly before any harm befell her.

He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.

XXXXX

Molly gazed around the room, examining every available surface in search of something – anything – that could help her escape with her life intact.

Moriarty had brought her to Sherlock's study – or rather, his makeshift laboratory.

The space was chaotic; remnants of forgotten experiments lay scattered throughout. The sole source of light was a lone candle that Moriarty had lit upon their entrance.

As she stumbled into the room, Moriarty had thrust her onto a wooden chair located beside the desk – one of the few areas in the space free of clutter.

Molly wondered if Moriarty was aware that this was _her_ chair whenever she aided Sherlock in his experiments. If she had to die, however, then at least in would be in the comfort of a familiar environment.

On a table to her right, a chemist's tube had fallen over, and whatever contents it held were now congealing on top of it. A half-filled beaker in front of her emitted the characteristic odor of acetic acid – which Molly quickly determined was far too dilute to be of any assistance.

Engrossed in her observation, Molly was startled when Moriarty's voice filled the room.

"You almost fooled me, Miss Hooper."

"What?" she interjected.

Moriarty, however, continued speaking as though she had not uttered a word, pacing back and forth from one side of the study to the other. In fact, he paid her no heed at all as he began explaining in earnest. His words came easily, at a brisk pace, giving Molly the impression that he had practiced this speech numerous times.

"I first met the youngest prince when I accompanied my father on a visit to the palace when I was fourteen. From a single glance, he was able to discern things beyond the comprehension of ordinary human beings. I, of course, could see them, but I was – _am_ – no ordinary human being. Neither, it seemed, was Prince Sherlock. My interest piqued, I resolved to keep an eye on him. Even at so young an age, I realized he would come to be either my greatest ally. Or my greatest foe."

Halfway through his monologue, her eyes drifted to the desk on her right and finally alighted upon the object that would be her salvation.

There, partially buried beneath a stack of papers, laid a small, steel scalpel. The sharp blade glinted menacingly in the dim light.

Molly extended her arm toward the instrument, but, unfortunately, it was too far for her to reach without going unnoticed. She would have to shift slowly and carefully towards it so as not to arouse the suspicion of the clearly unstable man, who had yet to cease speaking.

"Over the course of my fascination with the prince, I often heard rumors of his relationship with one of the palace servants – a young girl named Molly Hooper. I could not believe that someone as extraordinary as he could fall prey to the charms of the opposite sex. He and I were the same, far above those other men who could be swayed by an alluring woman. Years passed with no mention of his romantic involvement with anyone; I interpreted this as proof of my conjectures."

Molly slid her chair a few inches to the right, her hand stretched as far as possible. She could just feel the cool metal against her fingertips.

"It was your _fiancé,_ " he spat out the word as though it made him physically ill, "in fact, who unearthed my father's plot against the royal family. If not for him, Father would likely still be alive." He turned to her then, eyes narrowing. Molly froze.

By some miracle, he did not appear to detect her slight relocation as he resumed with renewed vigor.

"The day my father died, I swore that I would do whatever was necessary to inflict the same pain upon the prince which he had bestowed upon me. I would find the person who was dearest to him, and rip her (or him) away from him, just like he had taken Father from me."

Just a little bit further…. _Ah ha!_

Molly slipped the scalpel in between her middle and pointer fingers, reclining against the back of the chair. With her extensive education in anatomy, she could pinpoint exactly where to jab the blade to debilitate the mad man without killing him. Now all she could do was wait for the right time.

"I must confess, Molly dear," he disclosed intimately, bending down so he was at eye level with her. "I first befriended you in order to gain information about the prince. I had heard tales of your acquaintance, remember." He straightened, staring off into space.

"When it became obvious that your infatuation was pathetically one-sided, however, I endeavored to court you, to acquire your loyalty for myself. But we all know how that turned out, do we not?"

Molly gulped and nodded her head in agreement, her grip on the scalpel tightening minutely. "Y-yes," she mumbled.

"But then the strangest thing happened," he went on without acknowledging her response. "The prince ordered Mrs. Prince to keep us separated and to ensure that our paths never crossed in the course of our duties. Why do you think he did that, Miss Hooper?"

Molly had no idea what he was talking about. "Sherlock didn't –"

" _Furthermore_ , when the queen declared that he must find a bride, it took him less than a day to decide to ask you! What does it mean that the first woman he associates with 'wife' is you?"

Molly had no answer for that.

It was a valid question, one which she had asked herself numerous times over the past two weeks.

"Even then, I was not convinced you were the final piece of the puzzle I needed to destroy him. In fact, it was not until this very evening that I realized exactly how important you are to our favorite member of the royal family."

"What are you –?"

He interrupted her again. Molly held back her retort. She could not strike until the perfect moment.

"The look on his face when he saw you enter the ballroom? Priceless! If there was ever any doubt that he returned your feelings for him, they were quashed in that instant." He sounded practically lightheaded with excitement.

"Yes, killing you will be the perfect retribution for my father's death. He will be forced to live knowing that he failed to protect the woman he loves."

Molly shuddered in fear. His voice had gone eerily calm as he revealed his plan to take her life. She clutched the scalpel between her fingers.

"Now, I just have one more question for you, Miss Hooper, before we move on to the fun part of the evening. For me, anyway. I don't imagine you will enjoy it too much." He chuckled at his own joke.

She motioned for him to go on.

His grin was predatory. "Were you planning on attacking me with that scalpel anytime soon, or will I have to make the first move?"


	7. Chapter 6

**Enjoy!**

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 _His grin was predatory. "Were you planning on attacking me with that scalpel anytime soon, or will I have to make the first move?"_

Molly stared up at him in silence. She blinked once. Twice.

She breathed in deeply and lunged.

XXXXX

Sherlock discovered Molly's left shoe in an abandoned corridor near the party. He picked it up, grateful that Molly was at least mindful enough to give him a hint to her location.

Sprinting down the hall, he stopped when it came to an end, branching off on either side. He glanced from side to side until he noticed her other slipper partly hidden behind a potted plant. He promptly headed down the right corridor.

A crash rang out from a room up ahead.

His heart stopped for a split second before he took off running, faster than he ever had.

Molly needed him.

He slid to a halt outside the door to his study, not wasting a minute as he pushed on it and hurriedly entered the room. The sight that his eyes beheld was not quite what he was expecting.

Molly stood with a bloody scalpel dangling from one hand, looking like a heroine out of one of those novels Molly swore she did not read. She glared down at Moriarty, lying prone at her feet with one hand pressed to a wound in his abdomen. Red seeped between his fingers as he attempted to stem the blood flow.

"Molly?" Sherlock called out questioningly, proud in spite of his bewilderment. "Are you alright?"

Molly turned her head to look at him, then, as realization dawned in her brown eyes. They wavered between Sherlock and the man on the floor, trying to comprehend exactly what had happened.

Sherlock strode towards her, not sparing the other man another glance as he focused all of his attention on the small woman. He reached out a hand to brush her cheek, and Molly's awareness seemed to reappear at the contact. The scalpel fell to the floor with a clatter that neither Sherlock nor Molly heard as they stared silently at one another.

Later, Sherlock would not be able to say who moved first, but, before he realized what was happening, Molly had thrown herself at him, fingers clinging to his jacket as she sobbed into his chest. His arms wrapped around her of their own volition, bringing her closer to his body. Her knees gave out, and his grip tightened as he led her over to a large armchair situated in one corner.

Molly settled on his lap as Sherlock muttered unintelligibly into her hair, words that sounded a lot like 'I'm sorry' muttered over and over.

When Sally and Greg arrived minutes later to apprehend Moriarty, the pair were still intertwined, completely unaware of anything but each other.

XXXXX

After the ordeal with Moriarty, the queen had insisted that Molly be inspected by all of the best physicians the kingdom had to offer. (Molly courteously neglected to mention that she probably knew more than all of them.)

On their recommendations, Molly had spent the last three days in bed, her every whim being catered to by the palace staff. Toby was basking in all of the excess attention he received as Molly's beloved pet.

Molly hated it.

She was accustomed to being on her feet from dawn to dusk, never having a moment to spare. All of these free hours gave her too much time to think, to contemplate her life up until this moment.

Fortunately for Molly, she had no shortage of visitors during her mandatory relaxation. Princess Irene and Sally Donovan were her most frequent companions, all three women quickly bonding over their mutual hatred of societal norms and proper ladylike behavior.

Greg Lestrade also came to see her regularly, entertaining her with tales of his adventures as a captain of the palace guard. (One story involving a disgruntled villager who arrived to speak to the queen wearing only a sheet made her laugh until she cried.)

Even Crown Prince Mycroft had called on her a few times.

He did not speak much more than to enquire after her health, but Molly discerned a new-found respect for her in his watchful gaze. She suspected it was because she had singlehandedly incapacitated a psychopath intent on killing her, but she really couldn't be sure.

The one face she truly yearned to see, however, remained absent. Sherlock had disappeared shortly after Greg and Sally had detained Moriarty, and there had not been any sign of him since.

His absence was especially frustrating considering they still had not discussed what he had proposed shortly before Moriarty had taken her.

With of all of the spare time afforded her over the past few days, Molly had debated whether or not to accept his proposition. On one hand, she loved Sherlock and doubted she would ever feel as strongly about anyone else. On the other, however, she understood his views on emotional attachments; it was unlikely he would ever return her affections.

After careful deliberation, she decided that she wanted to marry the man she loved, even if all he could offer her in return was friendship.

Unfortunately, the man seemed determined to evade her.

After three days of silence, Molly finally took matters into her own hands. She ordered Greg to bring Sherlock to her using whatever means necessary. (She wasn't certain she actually had the authority to do that, but Greg agreed so she assumed it was okay.)

Finally, after what felt like several hours (but was more likely one at most), Greg returned, dragging a sullen Sherlock behind him. Molly sat up straighter, reclining against the pillows as she observed her faux (?) fiancé.

Molly smiled at Greg, silently assuring him that all was well, and that he could leave them alone. Nodding, Greg planted a kiss on her cheek before quietly exiting the room, shutting the door behind him with a decisive click.

Sherlock scanned the bedroom, gaze darting everywhere except at her. He knew she was upset with him, then.

 _Good_.

"You've been avoiding me, Sherlock," she declared, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice.

"Yes," he replied unapologetically, though he did not elaborate further. Molly huffed in outrage.

"Have I done something to you? Are you mad at me?"

"No, Molly –"

"Because you can _not_ just ask me to marry you for real, after avowing for _years_ that you wanted the exact opposite, and then ignore me for days afterwards! Sure, there was that whole 'being kidnapped by a madman' thing in the middle, but you still can't do that, Sherlock! I deserve more than that!" she exclaimed.

Her shoulders slumped as she most of her energy abandoned her. "Don't I?" Her eyes fell to her lap when she felt tears well up. She refused to let him see her cry over him.

"Of course you do, Molly. That is why I have kept my distance."

"What?!" she cried incredulously, gaze shooting up to meet Sherlock's. His words made absolutely no sense.

"You deserve only the best, Molly Hooper. You were targeted by James Moriarty because of your association with me. If we were to be married, you would be placed in even more danger. I cannot take that risk."

Molly watched as he gulped, closing his eyes briefly before looking at her once more.

"I believe it would be best if we ended our engagement immediately, Molly. I will tell Father and Mother that the entire scheme was my idea, and that you only agreed because I gave you no other choice. You should not suffer any consequences because of your compliance with the plot, and you will not have to resume your serving duties."

Sherlock paused, gazing at her as though internally arguing with himself. Coming to a decision, he strode forward, grabbing her left hand in one of his. He brushed her knuckles with his lips momentarily before drawing back.

"I hope you will be very happy, Molly Hooper."

Then he was gone, leaving the shocked woman behind.

* * *

 **Sorry?**

 **One more chapter left! Please leave a review!**


	8. Chapter 7

**And we've finally come to the end! Happy New Year's! (And Happy new Sherlock Day! :D)**

 **I hope you have enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

* * *

Sherlock disclosed the truth of their deception to his family. True to his word, however, he phrased his explanation as such to place all of the blame on himself, and none on Molly.

After the engagement was officially called off, Molly tried to return to the life she led before agreeing to Sherlock's proposal.

Unfortunately, no one else seemed to approve of that plan.

Despite her protests to the contrary, Molly had remained in her new bedroom. She claimed that the room was too big and grand for someone of her social position. However, the queen rebutted by revealing that the space was specifically decorated with her in mind. After learning that, Molly had no choice but to comply; her conscience would not allow anything else.

Mrs. Prince had also rebuffed Molly's attempts to resume her chores, going so far as to ban Molly from the kitchen.

When Molly tried to argue that her days were too empty and she needed some way to fill the time, the elderly woman spared her a pitying glance and suggested she take up knitting. Needless to say, Molly did not heed her advice.

Instead, she began wandering the castle aimlessly for hours on end. Being well-acquainted with the vast maze of corridors, she now she took the time to note the little intricacies that gave the building a personality of its own. She remained vigilant, however, and deliberately avoided areas she had frequented with Sherlock. She was determined to stay away from him if at all possible.

She was afraid of what might happen if she saw him again.

She would probably do something foolish.

Like scream at him.

Or beg him to reconsider.

But wasn't that exactly how their relationship had been, prior to Sherlock's request? She, happily lapping up whatever scraps of affection Sherlock deigned to send her way, content with the knowledge that at least she had him in her life – even if not in the way she desperately wanted.

She refused to return to those days.

Lost in thought as she was, Molly remained unaware of the presence of anyone else – until she almost collided with a person approaching from the opposite direction. Veering to the side at the last instant, she looked up to apologize, but was struck speechless when she found the crown prince staring back at her.

"Miss Hooper." He bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Molly curtseyed in response. His personality left much to be desired, certainly, but she still respected the man as a future leader of the kingdom.

"Your Highness."

He observed her for a moment. "Do you need to be somewhere, or do you have a spare minute for conversation?"

Molly almost laughed at the question. It seemed she had nothing but spare time these days.

"I'm free," she answered instead.

He motioned with his head, directing her towards a drawing room which Molly had never noticed.

The room was adorned in warm hues of maroon and violet, the lit fireplace giving the room a welcoming, homey atmosphere. Prince Mycroft settled into a plush armchair beside the fire, signaling to Molly to take a seat on the sofa opposite.

The man shifted uncomfortably as they stared at each other in silence. "How are you… feeling?" he inquired. In her prior acquaintance with the man, 'awkward' had never been a word Molly would use to describe him; he was always perfectly composed and poised.

At the moment, however, there was not a better adjective to describe the man.

Well, there was a first time for everything, she supposed.

"I am well," she replied slowly, still unsure as to why he had requested to speak with her. Although they had been on less hostile terms since the Moriarty incident, they still typically ignored each other unless absolutely necessary.

"That is good to hear." He paused.

"Miss Hooper, is something troubling you?"

"I… what?"

"I have noticed you have appeared… distracted as of late. I humbly offer myself as a willing confidante, should you be so inclined." He placed one hand over his heart to reiterate his point.

"I don't really know if…." It was one thing to lament to herself about her unrequited feelings for Sherlock. It was quite another to confess them to his brother.

"If this is about Sherlock, Miss Hooper, then, I assure you, nothing you may reveal could possibly change my opinion of him. Feel free to say whatever is on your mind."

"What…. Why do you even care? You've made it very clear over the past several years that you do not like me, and that you think I am beneath you and your family. What has brought on this sudden change of heart?"

"Though I will deny ever saying it, I underestimated you, Miss Hooper. It is not often that I admit I was wrong, as it happens so rarely," _Ah, there was the Mycroft she knew_ , "but I was wrong about you. Any person capable of overpowering a would-be murderer using nothing but a surgical instrument should be both feared and respected, in my opinion. I would like to start over, if you are amenable, Miss Hooper."

Molly considered him quietly, turning his suggestion over in her mind. Not one to hold a grudge, she grinned coyly at him.

"If we are to be friends, then you can probably use my given name."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in what Molly assumed was the closest he ever came to smiling. "Likewise, Miss– _Molly_. Likewise."

And so Molly recounted her entire relationship with the younger prince, from the day they met in the palace courtyard to that tense moment at the ball when Sherlock asked her to stop pretending. She blushed when she related the details of their first kiss, and did not think she imagined the way Mycroft's cheeks flushed as well. Finally, she recalled how Sherlock had been dragged to her room and ended their engagement, without so much as a thought as to what Molly wanted.

"He is trying to protect you," Mycroft supplied, once Molly had finished her tale.

"He cares for you, more than he would like, and, when he learned you were in danger, he was terrified of losing you."

"Why couldn't he tell me this himself, if he cares for me so much?"

"He believes that by keeping you at arm's length, he is also keeping you safe from harm."

"Did it ever occur to him that I can protect myself?" Molly grumbled, earning a chuckle from the prince. Molly had seldom been more proud of herself.

"The problem with Sherlock…." Molly gazed at him pointedly.

" _One_ of the problems with Sherlock," he amended, "is that he always believes his opinion to be the correct one. He does not consider other views, particularly when analyzing interpersonal relationships. Once he came to the decision that you would be safer without him, he gave no thought to any other conclusion."

"So what do I do?"

Mycroft stood up, walking towards her. He held out a hand and pulled her to her feet once she took it. "Convince him he is wrong, Molly. I have no doubt that, if anyone can accomplish such a task, it is you."

Throwing propriety to the wind, Molly flung her arms around the man. "Thank you," she whispered.

He stiffened for a moment before gradually returning the embrace. "You are welcome." Pulling back, Mycroft brushed off his suit and strode towards the door.

"I really should be going, now. Good luck."

Molly grinned at his retreating back, feeling more confident than she had in ages.

She left the room with a spring in her step.

She had a prince to find.

XXXXX

She found him exactly where she knew she would.

The garden was a bright array of colors and aromas. Seated in the center, on the bench where everything had started, was Sherlock, glaring fixedly at a rose that had fallen from its bush.

"Sherlock!" she called, startling the man out of his reverie. "We need to talk!"

He looked like he would rather do anything else, but shrugged his shoulders in acceptance anyway. "If we must," he muttered.

"You said your piece in my room the other day, so now it's my turn! Don't you look away from me!" she scolded when he attempted to turn away.

Satisfied that she had his undivided attention, she continued. "I want to marry you."

His eyebrows shot up, but she put up one finger to silence his refusal. "I love you, you idiot, and I want to be with you. If that means that I may become a target for others like Moriarty, well then, I think I handled myself pretty well the last time, don't you?"

"You love me?" he repeated flatly, and, really, _that_ was what he took away from her entire speech? Shouldn't that have been obvious by now?

"Of course I do! How could you, of all people, not realize that? I've loved you for years – even before our first kiss."

Molly exhaled loudly and dove straight in. "I love you and want to marry you. Do you want that, too? I know you don't return my feelings, but I just think that–"

Molly's words were abruptly cut off as Sherlock launched himself from his seated position and pressed his lips to hers. Molly was too stunned to move for several seconds. Then the reality of the moment caught up with her, and she began to kiss him back in earnest.

He tasted exactly as she remembered. She smiled into his mouth and deepened the kiss.

Eventually, a need for air caused the pair to part. Sherlock's arms were locked around Molly, while her hands were burrowed quite happily in his dark curls. He pressed his forehead to hers as they both struggled to regain their breaths.

Drawing back so he could gaze into her eyes, Sherlock scrutinized the woman in his embrace. "Are you sure you want to do this, Molly?"

"As sure as one can be about these sort of things, I suppose," she replied honestly. She had no idea what the future might hold, only that she wanted to face it with this man by her side.

"I expect now would be a good time to say that I love you, too, Molly Hooper."

Molly gasped. Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it was most assuredly not that.

"You… you do?"

"I do. For much longer than I realized." He stepped back, leaving Molly discontent at the loss of his warmth.

"Therefore, I believe I have a question to ask you, Molly Hooper." He glanced down at the muddy ground, his displeasure evident on his face. "I can kneel if you would like. However…."

Molly had never grinned so widely in her entire life. "That's okay, Sherlock," she reassured him. "It really isn't necessary."

Sherlock gripped her hands in both of his. "Molly Hooper, will you marry me?"

"Yes!" And then, because she could not help herself, she hurled herself into his arms.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she cried, punctuating each word with another peck to his mouth.

Sherlock wrapped her in his embrace and lifted her off the ground, twirling her around as her lips continued their assault on his face. Setting her back down, he grasped her face in his hands.

"Yes," she murmured a final time, before Sherlock closed the distance between them once more, rendering her completely incapable of talking.

XXXXX

Molly Hooper and her prince were married five days later. They decided they had wasted enough time denying their feelings for each other, and wanted to be wed as soon as possible.

The intimate ceremony, which took place in their garden, was attended by only their closest friends and families. Still, news of their wedding spread across the kingdom, and the event was the main topic of conversation throughout all of Baker for many months.

Princess Irene returned to her homeland with her father. After many heated debates, where her bright mind was on full display, she finally convinced the House of Lords (a congregation of curmudgeonly old men with severely outdated views) to allow her to govern the country without a husband. She remained unmarried for the rest of her days, although the frequent visits of a certain Sally Donovan led to speculation amongst her citizens.

Sally moved up the ranks of the Palace Guard at a rate equaled only by that of Captain Greg Lestrade himself, and she became known as a brilliant, brave soldier.

Mycroft succeeded his father as ruler of Baker, and his reign was one of prosperity and happiness for all of the country's people.

And Sherlock and Molly? Well, they lived happily ever after.

The End.

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